


Submission to Witchcraft

by OgodeiKhan



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Magic, Mind Manipulation, Other, Tentacle Monsters, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26308420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OgodeiKhan/pseuds/OgodeiKhan
Summary: A young aspiring alchemist finds a coven of witches held captive by a strange monster. Will her submissive tendencies lead her to fall prey to the monster as well, or is something else at work? May become an anthology series in time.
Kudos: 9





	Submission to Witchcraft

Apprentice Witch

By Ogodei-Khan

“The _Chlorostimulus_ spell has been found to be most effective on junipers during a waning quarter moon, though in a combination with the Bella Guinevere spell this efficacy can be extended to all phases of the moon except for the nadir of the moon. Be wary of using this combination during a partial lunar eclipse as it will cause the juniper berries to-“

_Thud._ Rosna’s consciousness wavered through sheer fatigue and boredom, slacking the muscles propping her up, though she was granted only an instant’s pass to dreamland before her chin smacked into the solid oak of her desk. “Damnit!” she yelped, snapping back to attention in her seat. She leaned over her book, leering at the text that had knocked her out.

“Nah,” she decided, pushing her chair back and standing up. “Time for a break.” A quick walk would get the blood pumping and let her power through the rest of this chapter. Organic alchemy was one of the coolest branches of the art, but it could get really tiring.

She stood up and stretched tall, trying to shake off the sleepies. Rosna was 19 and average-sized. Ghosts of brown freckles lingered in her round face, while sandy blonde hair frizzed around her hairline, untamed wherever it escaped from her bun. Her eyes were hazel and quick to see everything they could, at least when she wasn’t dead-dog tired. Her body was hidden under her scholar’s robes, which were a dull green.

Her hands reached for the lantern to pull out a small glowing crystal inside. The magic gem hovered above her palm, smoothly becoming a portable light. In a minute she was out in the cool night air. It wasn’t long until springtime but it could be pretty nippy still, especially this late at night. _How late is it, anyway?_ Holding up the gem so that she could see the moon through it, a clock appeared: two minutes to midnight.

Rosna was feeling more awake, but a sharper mind meant that her old doubts crept back up along with it. If she hadn’t been here at the school, she would have probably been married for two or three years already. She had always been smart and inquisitive, which is why she had opted for the path of Alchemy. It was hard work; there were a lot of rules for Alchemy, many of which didn’t make sense right off the bat and her teachers weren’t always the most patient.

She often enjoyed herself, enjoyed being able to shape her own destiny and explore the intersection of magic and the natural world. But she also an overthinker, and on nights like this, that feeling of rumination led her to, well, ruminate on whether she had made the right decision. She could imagine if she had stayed a simple farm girl, a milkmaid, then all she would have to do would be to sit and pump, pump, pump, all day long. And then at night she would go to her husband’s bed and pump, pump, pump all night long too. Sometimes the fantasies had a lusty young fellow milkmaid in her husband’s place, spending stolen moments exploring each other’s bodies in between milkings.

Rosna shivered from more than the cold and bit her lip. Her overthinking aside, it was also kind of lonely here at times like this. Filled with boys and girls her own age, of course, but if anyone else was interested in pumping all night long, they certainly didn’t look like it. Alchemy seemed repellant to the kind of people who were quick to romance or a roll in the hay. 

The abbey that housed the Alchemist’s Academy sat on a ledge midway up a forested mountainside, a road leading up to the abbey in front and circling to the main gate which faced perpendicular to the mountainside. The abbey was surrounded by a wall, tall but not thick enough to really serve as defense, and a flagstone path surrounded the wall, running along the edge of the wood between the abbey and the mountainside.

As Rosna rounded the corner to walk parallel to the wood she paused. _Snap_ , she heard a rustle in the wood, and then a few more. She kept walking at first, assuming that it was only an animal scurrying through the undergrowth, but then the sound was followed by an ominous moan, spooky in the dark.

“Who’s there?” Rosna said fearfully, the tone of someone not ready for whatever lay beyond, but too curious to just walk away. She stepped off the walkway and gripped the floating gem, narrowing its glow into a beam and pointing it into the wood. She stepped carefully, to avoid tearing her robes on a bramble and to avoid making more noise. The moan repeated itself, but the timing was off for it to be a response to her. 

  
The university often used the wood for practice in those different plant alchemy spells that she “loved” so much, so she had a decent idea of where she was going. She quickly found her way to the back of the wood, where large boulders formed a cliff face in the mountainside. Rosna shivered for a moment, _was something moving back there?,_ but her curiosity continued to drive her and she crept closer to the wall of boulders. It looked different than she remembered, one of the boulders seemed askew. _Is it just a shadow, or…?_

No, there was a crevice between the boulders, like something inside the mountain had tried to heave them apart and only barely succeeded. A moan came louder this time, right out of the open crevice.

“Hello?” Rosna asked, pointing the beam into the crevice. “Do you need any help?” The moan called to her. _A response?_ She gingerly stepped through the crevice, and tuned her crystal back to casting a wide lantern-glow.

She stepped back in shock. The cave was surprisingly large, a good two stories tall. There was a huge red creature inside, tall and thick like a giant earthworm or a crimson slug. But unlike a slug or an earthworm, there was something stuck to the sides of the creature. A few somethings by the look of it. Looking closer, Rosna saw that they were women. At least 5 of them, but maybe more hidden in the shadows.

Each of the women was spread-eagled against the sides of the creature, with the ends of their arms and legs submerged right into the creature’s flesh. Something else kept them in place as well: a glistening red tendril penetrated the pussies of each of the women. Some of the women were still, but the closest one was jerking as she was thrust into with steady, powerful thrusts from the tendril.

This closest woman was… well put together, with olive-brown skin and stygian black hair. She had a thin nose that added to her appearance of being a statue like you’d see in a town square, but the movement and sound of her meant that she was very much alive. She also had a golden necklace with large baubles draped around her neck. With each thrust, muscles in her toned stomach would ripple in reaction, her diaphragm pushing out another breathy moan that would make her shapely breasts jiggle, and the baubles on the necklace clink together gently.

“Are you okay?” Rosna asked, reaching out and touching the statuesque woman on the leg. She moaned, but only because the tentacle thrust into her again. Rosna saw the woman’s eyes now, slack and hooded, but glowing with a dull red glint; there was something other than the slimy flesh of the creature that was holding her here.

Rosna’s breathing became heavier as she watched, the young woman herself was in danger of being carried off into another world. She shivered; _this big thing will see me, or sense me, then it’ll grab me with one of those tendrils and suck me in. And then… oooohhh...._ One of her hands slid down inside her robes, but the other reached out towards the tendril pumping into the statuesque woman.

“It won’t avail you.” With a muffled yelp Rosna turned around at the woman’s voice that sounded behind her. This woman was shorter than her, and wearing robes similar to hers, with an extra badge on the chest showing that she was a professor at the academy. She had white hair and a rounded face that was jolly when smiling but could make a frightful sneer when angered.

“Professor Eyop?” Rosna asked gently. “Why are you here?”

“Distance spell,” she said, briefly revealing a glass globe in her hand with a number of lights gathered in its center, while one light, blinking brighter than the others, was out towards the edge. “You really mustn’t wander beyond the path at night.”  
  
“I’m sorry ma’am, I just,”

“It’s okay, some foolhardy curiosity is heartening to see. You can’t make real magic without a little danger, but then they,” she said, motioning towards the creature and its captives, “represent the other extreme.”

“Who are they?”

“Witches,” Eyop said. The very word had a mystique to it.

“They’re real?” Rosna asked.

“Quite. I know what you’re thinking, remembering fairy stories by the fireside when you were small?”

“Something like that.”

“They don’t fit the wood-cut images, do they? Cackling green-skinned hags riding brooms, boiling up putrid potions.”

“They’re… beautiful,” Rosna said.

“That they are,” Eyop said, sounding just a little envious. “Theirs is a different branch of magic entirely, though one we know so very little about. It seems that they do not need talismans for their very bodies or souls have become the talismans that we use for our spells. They are reclusive and they can be dangerous, but this group has come by a few times since I first came here 20 years ago.” She stepped over to Rosna and the statuesque woman and then waved her hand vigorously in front of the captive woman’s face. “I remember this one. She’s been this way for a long, long time.”

“How long will they stay?”

Professor Eyop looked back at her. “From their movements before, they seem to move about with the phases of the moon. A week, perhaps more. Now come along, Rosna. It’s fun to dream once in a while, but we have a duty to the art of alchemy.”

Reluctantly, Rosna pulled her eyes away from the statuesque witch as the Professor guided her out of the cave and back to her ordinary life.

***

Rosna slept that night, but she didn’t get much rest. Her dreamland was filled with a crimson ocean, a place where everything was slave to a singular rhythm, an insistent, pleasurable pulsing that throbbed all around her and through her. But like most dreams, something was missing from it, a reminder that it wasn’t real and wasn’t actually happening to her. She got hot, and rubbed between her legs in her sleep, but she couldn’t find any satisfaction. When she awoke that morning, she felt a mild wetness in her nighty and between her thighs. She squirmed in her bed, feeling restless and kind of stressed.

Lost in another world. Slave to a crimson rhythm. Hooded eyes glowing red. It went deeper than her plain old milkmaid fantasies of pumping and groping and spoke to something deeper, of total submission and surrender to the needs of her body and soul. Was that what being a witch was like?

She tried not to think of it during her morning lessons, but she just couldn’t help it. Instead of visualizing obscure spells and how to work them, her mind plumbed the crimson depths. She was relieved when the lunch-bell rang. After grabbing a warm roll of bread and some thick soup from the galley, she hurried up to the upper floor of the library. It was a place where students could escape for quiet contemplation, but Rosna had something else on her mind.

The books of the upper floor contained the more obscure subjects, the stuff that was weird and arcane even by the standards of alchemy, making it a quiet study space as you were unlikely to be disturbed by somebody in search of a certain tome. One of the many useful tools of alchemy was the logolith, a small stone which could compound a massive amount of written information and allow the user to search quickly, removing the need for the card catalogue used in scientific libraries. With the logolith it was easy to find the book she was looking for.

The main volume on witchcraft in this entire grand library was a thin one, dry to the touch and stiff with age and lack of use. She had to be careful when cracking it open, to overcome the stiffness without breaking it. 

Reading it was a retread of Professor Eyop’s comments from the night before. _Their magic is little known. The source of their power comes from within, unlike any other branch of magic._ The book at least seemed to have some knowledge sourced directly from the witches. _They call the source of their magic “The Beacon” and the genesis of that power is known as “Ignition.” Nobody knows how this Ignition is achieved. The most prevalent theory is that it’s similar to the Mimeotalisman process for the production of geomancy media._

_No, no, no_ , Rosna thought. That wasn’t the part she was interested in. She needed to search for something like “beast,” or “creature.” The logolith could help her somewhat, working like a “hot/cold” indicator to tell her whether she was getting closer or further from the words she sought. She flipped through dry, aged leaves of parchment until she found a promising page. _The Witches can contract with familiars, intelligent beasts who form a lifetime pact of some kind. They help the witches in their spells and work with them to increase their power, and often take the form of earthly creatures, or some hybrid between earthly creatures and man._

Well, that wasn’t right. That huge tentacle creature was beyond “earthly” and came from somewhere else. How did the witches get _there_ , to where they could commune with that thing? It didn’t seem like a magic spell, or else why would so many of them do it at the same time? _They sometimes work in covens, though most frequently work alone or in bonded pairs called “Philosi.”_ Maybe they could be a coven, then, but why would a whole coven do this? It could be an orgy-like ritual, that more than one was needed to summon a creature of such size and pleasure-bringing power. But according to Professor Eyop, these witches had been in this state for at least 20 years; that didn’t sound like the kind of time you’d take just for fun. Of course, this could just be a periodic ritual and…

Rosna shook her head quickly. She was overthinking again. She had all of the important information out of this book, so the only thing left to do was some original research. The sun glinted through the skylight that dominated the center of the library, reminding her that the afternoon was getting on. She bit her lip. Her next class was bound to start soon, but would she really be able to concentrate? Based on her preoccupation this morning, the answer was probably no. This had to be done, if only to get it over with and put the witches from her mind once and for all.

She shoved the book into her satchel and left. She got lucky on her way through the abbey’s grounds, no Professor Eyop, and no-one else she saw batted an eye at her. Once she was past the walls she was safe; the distance spell Professor Eyop mentioned likely wasn’t active during the day, too many would come and go to the village on assignment. No one was outside, and she was able to go back into the wood unseen. She moved carefully through the woods though, just to make sure she didn’t make too much noise, and soon enough she was back at the crevice and inside the cave. 

All of the witches were still there, but not in the same place as the night before. The statuesque witch was lower to the ground and facing to the right of the cave entrance, instead of facing towards it like she had been. The other women had also shuffled around. Rosna approached the statuesque woman. The tentacle wasn’t thrusting anymore, but was still stuck in her moist pussy.

Rosna pulled out a pair of gemmed hair clips from her bag, stuck one in her bangs and then, with some trepidation, slipped it onto one of the statuesque woman’s silky black locks. A mind connector, one of the more advanced techniques she’d learned in her short months at the university. One hand touched a finger to the hair clip on her forehead, and she used her other hand to touch the clip on the witch’s head, making contact.

The crimson ocean was deep and its colors flowed and throbbed. It was like having your eyes closed against the sunlight, a space of dark red and splotchy shapes floating around. She could hear a steady thrumming but there was nothing she could see making the noise. She was completely inert, floating there in the warm darkness all alone.

Well, almost. There was still an imperfection, a nagging link back to the real world. She was here, she had made it to the object of her fantasy, er, her curiosity, but she could tell she was there which wasn’t what she wanted, she had to be bey-

_Interloper._

Rosna started, and the world seemed to swirl around her.

_This bliss is not for you._

The crimson depths whipped around like a storm, whirling together into a single twister that throbbed and drew her in, powerful and pulsing like the tentacle creature in the real world.

“I seek truth,” Rosna answered timidly. “Not bliss.”

The twister vanished, and Rosna was able to bask in the crimson depths for a brief moment before it ripped her back out.

_You cannot dissemble. Even through your meagre connection I know your heart. You are a creature of desire, but you have no Beacon._

“So you only serve Witches?”

_I do not serve. I feed. I perceive only the beacons in the darkness of your plane and hold them captive for sustenance. In turn I keep them docile and pleasured until the need passes. You crave being dominated as they do._

“I…” Rosna began, but there was no point in lying to this creature, or to herself. Consciously she wanted to be an alchemist, but this was a desire that went down deeper. She could sleep forever in the crimson depths, a happiness that would last for all time. 

_If you are able, I can show you how to ignite your Beacon. Then you too shall sustain me._

Rosna paused, and then nodded. “Show me.”

The swirling maelstrom vanished, replaced by the statuesque woman, who seemed a little younger now and was fully clothed in bottle-green robes. A torch floated between her hands, glowing softly with an orange aura but not actually lit. A woman with white hair cut in a bob stood in front of her. She had black robes with her back turned towards the young apprentice witch. The white-haired woman’s robes fluttered, and then lifted themselves, revealing pale skin and a shapely ass.

The statuesque woman knelt down behind the pale witch, her face drawing close to the witch’s ass. With only a moment’s hesitation, she plunged her face between the woman’s pert cheeks. She rimmed the witch hungrily, with the wet tongue sounds making the whole scene very arousing. She kept the torch floating between her hands as she licked. The pale witch buckled in a fit of pleasure, collapsing to her knees, then the apprentice waved her hands around the floating torch. The torch’s orange glow changed to an electric blue and then shot outwards.

The apprentice witch looked triumphant, but that look changed to fear quickly. She made as if to run and then, from beyond the field of view, a red tentacle lashed out and stole her away.

_A rough facsimile rendered from her memories. My perception of your world is dim._

_“Seemed detailed enough to me,”_ Rosna thought. But it made sense, it was unlikely that the witches would be attacked as soon as they ascended, and the woman had been missing her golden necklace. The point was pretty clear, though: become a Witch and be consigned to the crimson depths.

_Should you be worthy of ignition, you can share their fate. Now go._

Rosna let go of the mind connector, drawing her back to reality. She glanced up at the statuesque woman and her imagination shot to the witch rimming her old mistress. Rosna shivered.

She shook her head resolutely and stepped away, back to the crevice to the cave. The sun had crawled on to the western half of the sky; her trip to inner space had taken a while.

Rosna headed back to the abbey, passing through the small archway that led through the rear wall. Past there she hesitated, shifting her balance between one foot and the other. Her good sense was winning out, though. The life of a witch was definitely an entertaining fantasy. In fact, Rosna was planning on that fantasy accompanying her for bath time tonight, but there was no way she could really do that, right? Not yet anyway.

She’d already missed half of her afternoon lecture, and was caught between whether it was more embarrassing to barge in late and take in what she could, or just dodge the whole thing and risk the professor’s wrath. The love of learning was winning out, and she shifted her weight towards the hall that held the classroom, when she suddenly felt something brush up against her.

She started, whirling around in a full circle and drawing the curious gaze of a few passersby as her robes flared around her. She had a shock of embarrassment and then she saw that; a red tentacle slithered against her forearm. It withdrew, but then beckoned, pointing the way towards the library.

Something was deeply wrong here. The creature had infested her, hadn’t it? It was projecting its will into her mind. She should tell someone, tell Professor Eyop. She drew breath in to yell, when the tentacle pressed itself gently against her lips. A thrill ran through her body at the touch, and her thoughts were shaken. Maybe she should learn more before telling anyone, and so she followed the tentacle’s beckoning on to the library.

She went back up to the top floor; the tentacle didn’t need to tell her that whatever knowledge she was looking for was not in the normal textbooks. She picked up one of the available logoliths, and started a search: _tendril, tentacle, crimson, leviathan_. The tentacle wrapped itself around her wrist, gently. It was pleasantly warm, like a campfire or… a torch.

As soon as that thought of a torch passed into her head, the tentacle wriggled in approval. A second tentacle appeared, wrapping itself around her other wrist. The two worked together to guide her hands, the logolith in one hand while the other reached for the bookshelf. Together, the tentacles led her to an old book dealing with alchemy related to torches.

_The torch will guide me_ , Rosna thought. It made sense, the ritual didn’t relate to the monster, the ritual related to the Ignition that would awaken her internal wellspring of magic. That magic would attract more of these slick, crimson tentacles, and then she would be wrapped forever.

The tentacles approved of this thought, and a third one appeared to show that approval, which slunk from out of sight up between her legs, somehow bypassing her clothes to rest directly between her thighs, so, so close to her pussy. She was on the right track and needed to charge forward, and soon that tentacle would close the gap and be inside her. It was the _Ignidadaneumo_ spell that she needed, one where her breath would induce an alchemically-attuned torch to ignite and create a magic pulse in the locality. The trick was that the torch needed to have the attributes of a geomancy talisman.

_The pulse of the torch will link you with the earth, from whence I shall come to claim you._ She heard a voice now. Was it real? Was it coming from the tentacles, or echoing in her mind? A part of her, high enough in her brain to be free of the wriggling warmth, wondered whether the tentacles were real, or were a hallucination. The crimson leviathan had its tentacles in her, one way or another.

The leviathan strengthened that thought by sprouting two more tentacles which wrapped around her ankles. Now all four of her limbs were under the creature’s control; she would be drawn in like a fish on a line, or a puppet dancing happily on its master’s strings. But all the temptation in the world couldn’t actually solve the problem for her. The creature remembered the image of the Ignition, of how one could become a full-fledged Witch, but it couldn’t really see the physical world so the exact process remained a mystery. Rosna was not quite a puppet of the tentacles, as her will and her wits were needed to solve the mystery of Ignition herself.

She worked long into the night, and by luck or the power of the creature, nobody disturbed her. This was a really weird combination of spells, mainly because geomancy talismans were usually made with gems or other earth minerals, not with wood. Wood was one step removed from the kind of earth element she needed, and that was the big step she needed to take.

The tentacles supported her every step of the way, wrapping a little tighter every time she made progress. Two showed up to cup at her bosom, groping gently but insistently. As she rounded the corner into the last leg, two tentacles pressed themselves against her ears, shutting out the sound of the outside world and bringing back the steady throbbing that could be found in the crimson depths. She could feel the tentacles slowly taking her self-control and bringing her on to her next life. 

Not long after the cock crowed, she was finished. She had to leave the library a little bit to get a torch and some alchemic potions from the supply room, but otherwise she’d worked alone.

Rosna got a taste of her coming reward as soon as she put her quill down. The tentacle stuck between her legs, so close and yet so far from pleasuring her, rubbed up against her virgin mons. She shivered, but managed to hold her composure; now was not the time to get sidetracked by an appetizer, not when decades worth of main course lay just outside the abbey walls.

She picked up the torch and went down out of the library. Dawn had barely broken overhead, and she could only see a few of the caretakers out doing the morning chores. Usually the caretakers didn’t pay much attention to the students, and vice versa, so they didn’t notice her oddly mechanical stride. The fact that the caretakers didn’t notice her confirmed that the tentacles were all in her mind, but Rosna was too far gone to care. A dreamy look was in her eyes and there was a slight sigh to her breath as she headed across the abbey’s grounds and out the rear entrance.

The golden light of the early dawn filtered down through the wood that fronted the mountainside. _This is the last time I’ll see the sun, isn’t it?_ She thought. _Well, it is what it is._ Her pussy moistened as she thought that, and the tentacle before it rubbed vigorously in response.

Rosna slipped through the crevice into the mountainside cave without a glance back at the sunshine, the abbey, or her old life. The creature had shifted positions again overnight, putting the statuesque woman front and center again. She seemed to be idle and asleep, however, both her body and the tentacle that still penetrated her pussy were still.

The tentacles that had cradled her body thus far, treating her like a puppet, were suddenly gone. Proof that the tentacles had never been real, but she was beyond caring. She held up the alchemically-attuned torch in front of her.

Part of her had hoped that the statuesque witch would be at rest. There was one last ingredient to the magic that would ignite her inner flame. She would need to match her emotional pitch with someone who was feeling a powerful emotion: that was why the vision the creature had shown her had been so pornographic, the sex act linked the witch and the apprentice together, and their breath as they rutted was key to the _Ignidadaneumo_ spell.

_Just the right height,_ Rosna thought, her eyes looking right at the statuesque witch’s pussy. This made her work easy; holding the torch in one hand, she used her other hand to gingerly grab at the tentacle that was penetrating the statuesque witch. The tentacle did not offer much in the way of resistance, possibly because it couldn’t even tell she was there.

Rosna activated some of the magic of the torch, allowing it to float in the air between the two women. Her eyes were fixed on the glistening mons of the sleeping statuesque witch while she stripped off her scholar’s robes and her undergarments. Her naked body compared poorly to the shapely witches, but her innocent features gave her an allure all her own. She had modestly sized breasts and a small amount of baby fat still evident in her stomach and hips. Her skin was pale but freckled in just the right places.

Rosna brought her face forward, admiring the beauty of the other woman. She had fantasized about men and women before, but there was an elegance to the female form that could not be denied. Her eagerness cut her admiration short, and she stuck out her tongue before making contact with the warm wetness that was the statuesque witch’s pussy. She licked greedily, hungrily taking in the taste of the statuesque witch’s arousal and feeling her own arousal grow in response.

With one hand, she continued to guide the floating torch and keep it aloft, but her other hand crept down to her own glistening pussy. With little hesitation, she plunged two fingers in. A ripple of pleasure shot through her that reached on into the statuesque witch. The witch still slept, but a shudder ran through her and she moaned as her dreams turned wet. 

Rosna took that moan as a sign of approval, and ate more voraciously, the tip of her nose brushed up against the witch’s hardened clit while the bridge of her nose rustled against a patch of curly black hair. Rosna’s fingers worked eagerly in and out of her pussy, as she felt the statuesque witch’s pelvis begin to move rhythmically. The gyrations grew faster and faster, and then-

“Augh!” the statuesque witch’s eyes shot open and she let out a loud, sharp moan. A secondhand orgasm rippled through Rosna, but it she didn’t glide into any afterglow. A voice came from deep in the earth; _This pleasure is only the beginning!_

The alchemically attuned torch, which had been glowing dimly as it floated between the two lovers, suddenly burned bright and changed from gold to a blinding blue. Rosna fell to her knees as the power flowed, and she heard a number of plopping sounds, the sounds of bodies hitting stone. She gingerly opened her eyes. The creature seemed to have reared up, stiffening its thick, trunk-like body. Its tentacles had all stiffened as well, pointing straight outwards like thorns from a rose. The captive witches had all fallen from their pleasurable bonds to the stone floor of the cave. 

The moment was upon her. Rosna could see it. The reared-up creature would soon lean towards her, bear down upon her, take her, violate her, own her forever.

But that wasn’t the case. The creature shivered for an instant as if in sudden pain, and then retreated into the ground in a flash with a subsonic growl. Instead of taking her captive, the creature had fled.

“What…” Rosna started slowly as she crept towards the open pit that the creature had previous occupied. “Where did it go?”

“It left.” Rosna turned towards the voice that spoke; the statuesque witch was awake and sitting up. “Rosna, you beautiful clever girl,” she said, standing up and approaching the confused young alchemist.

“I’m sorry?” Rosna asked.

“You’ve been the victim of a deception,” the statuesque witch said, the other witches were starting to wake up too, looking around in confusion. “That’s not how you do Ignition, that was an old spell designed to banish Paratentaculars. Good thing too, another dozen years or so and I would’ve started chafing.”

“But the creature… Paratantic…”

“Paratentacular,” the statuesque witch corrected.

“It was in my head…” Rosna said, confusion and an odd sense of loss flowing through her. “It was luring me, it was going to take me.”

The statuesque witch chuckled softly. “Paratentaculars can’t talk, silly. Not even in your head.” She reached out with an olive-skinned hand and touched Rosna’s temple. _It was me_ , the voice rang in Rosna’s head, low and primal and exactly as she remembered the creature sounding.

“My name is Caranz,” the witch said, “of the Mikolinos Coven. Thank you so much for saving us, you’ll make a great alchemist. Not many of them could have solved the problem of the Ignidudaneumo spell.” Caranz patted Rosna on the head and made as if to leave the cave, and the other witches looked ready to follow her lead.

“But I wanted it to take me!” Rosna shouted. She felt cheated.

Caranz stopped and peered back at the girl.

“I wanted it to take me…” Rosna repeated, now softer. “You showed me those crimson depths. Were they real?”

“Yes,” Caranz replied. “That was real. We were like that for about twenty years.”

“I’ll… I’ll never know anything like that again,” Rosna said. “Can… can you put me back there?” She turned and grabbed Caranz’s arm roughly, desperately, pulling the witch’s hand back to her temple. “Can you connect to my mind again?”

Caranz glanced at Rosna, looked around quickly at her comrades, and laughed out loud. “Hah! You’ve really got it bad, huh? You want to bounce around as a Paratentacular’s plaything?”

“Yes!” Rosna said, all pretense at decency abandoned.

“I can do better for you,” Caranz replied. “How would you like to become a witch?”

“A witch?”

“Of course. If you can pull off that feat with the torch, you can pass the trials of Ignition, with some work.”

“Why would that help? The creature’s gone now.”

“The Paratentacular may return one day,” Caranza said. “It troubles covens like ours from time to time, but the world of witchcraft has a lot of perils and pleasures. You need to be a gifted magician to become a Witch, but it takes a special kind of woman to really embrace our life. We control powerful magic, but a lot of times it controls us, and you have to be ready for that.”

“Controls?” Rosna asked.

“I can see the idea interests you. There’s just one thing you’ll have to do.” Caranz’s voice was growing sultry.

“And that is?”

Caranz got down on all fours, facing the light coming from the cave’s entrance, presenting her shapely ass to the girl. “Put that tongue of yours to work again and make me cum.”

Without hesitation, Rosna got down and crawled forward, diving face-first into her future. 


End file.
